Bread and Circuses: Black Coffee In Bed

Sorry it's taken a while guys, but here it is! Chapter 3. Enjoy!

It's a Tuesday when I get the call.

It's blisteringly hot out - in California, when wasn't it? - and so Johanna had persuades me to eat out rather than in our room. We usually meet up during classes, just to chat, otherwise we'd be like ships passing in the night. And ever since the party, we'd had a shadow in the forms of Peeta and Gale. Well, I say shadows, it's more the fact that we'd bonded together against the world, like in 'Friends'. In Johanna's words, not mine. I admitted I've never seen an episode the whole way through, and Johanna had called immediately for a group-wide, ten season marathon that the boys had agreed to almost instantly, claiming it was a sin I hadn't seen it. I wasn't really that bothered. TV was a luxury we couldn't afford at home, and we only really had one for two reasons: appearances, and the news.

We're sitting outside a deli, eating sandwiches and salads, trying not to melt even in the shade. Johanna's rolling a chilled bottle of water over her forehead and complaining she's from Seattle, she just can't do this weather. Gale's throwing his unwanted cucumber at her face, claiming it's helping her cool down. Peeta's picking at his leftover lettuce, already gone limp with the unbearable heat.

A ring sounds from apparently nowhere, and my friends' hands all immediately dash towards their phones, each shaking their head at their silence.

"It's your's, brainless," Johanna says, nodding towards where the ringing is coming, loud and clear, from my bag. Ah, the cell phone Johanna made me buy. I'd never had a use for one at home in Seam, but Johanna - and Peeta and Gale, for that matter - wanted me to have one. 'In case of emergency' they said. To date, only they three had my number, so who the hell was calling me?

I pick up, frowning at the unknown number. "Hello?" I hate the way my voice sounds tense, nervous even.

"Hello. Is this Katniss Everdeen?" a smooth, male voice I've heard before comes through the phone. I frown again, my thumbnail somehow finding it's way towards my mouth.

"Yes," I say, shortly.

The man laughs at my shortness. "My name is Cato Baxtor, I'm the assistant manager at Starbucks, UP Branch. You applied for a part-time Barista position?"

I perk up at this as I realise where I've heard that voice before: hungover, buying coffee, and a big, bulky-looking blonde man behind a counter. But this was good news. A job meant money, that I could possibly send back home to Mom and Prim. "Yes, I did," I answer. I then remember I'd scratched down the number on the application form, paranoid I'd gotten it wrong.

I can almost hear Cato smile down the phone. "Well, you've got it, girl. When can you come down for a introduction?"

Now, it's my turn to smile down the phone. "Tomorrow?" I say, wanting to get started right away, and this doesn't escape Cato's notice.

"Eager," he comments, not nastily, then hums. "Tomorrow, eleven am. I'll be at the counter, just come in."

"Okay, thanks," I say, and then I all I hear is dial tone; Cato's hung up. I save the number as 'Work' and it gives me a small thrill to do so, and I can't wait to get in and start earning money I can call mine and mine alone.

I look up from my phone to see three pairs of eyes all boring into mine, apparently all wondering who was on the phone. Johanna's got both hands braced on the table, as if she's about to jump and shake it out of me; Peeta's chewing on a piece of cucumber with an expectant look on his face; and Gale's got one eyebrow raised, all three of them waiting for me to speak.

"I got the job," I say, a grin slowly making it's way onto my face. Johanna lets out a loud whoop that startles the customers sitting behind us. She's too busy throwing herself at me to notice though, and it's Peeta who says a sheepish sorry, before grinning at me. Gale high fives me over Johanna's head, and then he collapses on top of her (and therefore, me) with a yell of 'pile on!'. Peeta follows suit, and gets the woman Johanna had half-scared to death earlier to take a picture of the four of us on his phone.

Somehow, in this sweaty, slightly sticky, jumbled mess of limbs and clothes, I think I've actually found a family.

I wake up two hours early on the morning of my first day.

I try and rouse Johanna, but I should know by now that I won't have much luck. On Wednesday's she doesn't have class until noon, so she won't be getting up a minute before eleven. I try tugging the blankets off her and shining a torch in her face, but she sleeps on, dead to the world. I swear, there could be an earthquake and the girl still wouldn't wake up - which is suddenly a real threat, living in California, where I know from school earthquakes are common. Hurricanes are our biggest problem in West Virginia.

I give waking her up as a bad job, and sit on the edge of my bed, letting Johanna's soft snores calm me down. I'm nervous. I've had jobs before, obviously, in Seam. But this is the first one I'll be doing completely independently. Back in Seam it was my father's friends that had given me jobs, nothing solid just odd jobs here and there, as they knew my family were short of money. It wasn't awful work, not by any standards, and I knew everyone there so there was no awkwardness or painful small talk like there is bound to be today.

There is nothing for me to do now, but wait. I should probably try and eat by for some reason, my stomach is jumpy, and the mere thought of food sends it spinning. Instead, I reach for one of my books, thinking I should at least get some work done whilst I'm free.

I'm halfway through a chapter on international relations in the Middle East when there are three soft, but sure taps on the door. I set the tomb to the side as gently as I can, a feat well-practised with the weight of the books Abernathy dishes out, and I get up to see who the hell is knocking on the door at this time of the morning.

It's Peeta.

I smile as I open the door as quietly as I can. He comes bearing gifts; a coffee from Starbucks. I laugh quietly at the irony as I take it from his outstretched hand, and beckon him into the room with a nod of my head. He catches the door before it shuts, and lets it click gently.

"How are you?" He half-whispers, settling himself down on my bed with his back against the wall. I take a seat next to him, putting my coffee between my knees. It's funny, how addicted I've become to the stuff in under two weeks.

"I'm okay. Just a bit nervous, I think," I say as quietly as I can. I don't know why I bother, we could be screaming at each other and Johanna still wouldn't wake. "Never really done the job thing before."

"You didn't work at home?" Peeta asks, feigning casualness. He takes a sip of his coffee, but his eyes don't leave my face. Out of the three of them, Peeta is the one that shows the most concern over my upbringing. Johanna usually makes a joke of it (although I think that's her way of dealing with unpleasant things in general) and Gale usually acts as if he has no clue about it whatsoever.

Peeta, on the other hand, seems like he is genuinely troubled by it. I know from small hints and talks that although his family always had money, from their bakery in Pittsburgh, he was extremely lonely as a child. He mentioned his brothers, but Johanna and I (we've talked about this, between us. Mainly because Peeta's cagey about his life, whilst I am not, really. Gale and Johanna don't really have anything to be cagey about, per se) reckon they aren't close, as a family. There is something about his mother, too, but we haven't been able to work out exactly how she factors in. Johanna thinks she may be dead, but I'm not so sure. He doesn't talk like she is.

My eyes flick back up to him, and I smile a little. "Not really for money. For food," I say, and Peeta's eyes are suddenly extremely interested in his coffee cup in his lap, and I can tell he doesn't really have anything to say to that. However broken and fractured his family may be, the one thing they've always had is plenty to eat. He's said so himself.

(I used to be jealous of that. But then I decided I'd much rather have my family, whole and complete and happy, than a mountain of food we'd never be able to consume).

We speak about trivial things, like class, tutors and the weather, but mostly we're just lost in our thought. I like that we've reached a stage in our friendship that we can be comfortable in silence with each other. Now, only the sound of small sips of coffee and Johanna's snoring punctuating the air. They stop, and I look over to her.

"Gall," she mutters in her sleep, and I can almost hear Peeta frowning beside me.

"Gall?" he whispers to me, and I turn my head to look at him.

"She's said it a few times now," I say, being honest. A smile creeps across my face. "I think she might be saying 'Gale'."

Peeta's eyebrows nearly collide with his hairline at that. "You think?"

I nod. "Unless she's talking about her gall bladder," I say, and Peeta laughs as quietly as he can.

"Johanna likes Gale? Really?" he asks, as if he quite can't get his head around it. I shrug one shoulder, taking a final sip of my rapidly cooling drink.

"Maybe," I say, not wanting to speak much more on it. What goes on in Johanna's crazy, messed up head is for her and her alone, and I fear for my life should I even suggest that I'd heard what I did. She'd rip me limb from limb.

I'm assuming Peeta knows well enough now to keep his mouth shut, too.

All he does is nod knowingly, rubbing his hand on my knee for a second or two before he gently plucks my now-empty cup from my hand and tosses it in the trashcan on his way out the door.

Cato is, for lack of better words, a giant cuddly bear.

Or, at least, that's how I'm describing him to Johanna now (She'd arisen from her sleep of the dead by the time I'd finished my first shift).

She was bouncing on her bed when I stepped through the door, her book tossed to the side carelessly on her bed as if she'd begun studying but had since given it up as a bad job. Knowing Johanna, that's probably exactly what happened.

"So? How was it? Tell me everything!" she demands, and I've not even fully shut the door yet. I sigh, placing my bag on my bed with my body following it, and unlacing my shoes slowly. If there is one thing I've learnt about my roommate, is that she talks. About everything. In excruciating details. From who made out with who at her senior prom to her last trip to the bathroom, she's the queen of too much information. No-one can ever say that she's hard to read, or plays her cards close to her chest; she's the most open and honest person I've ever met, and sometimes that necessarily isn't a good thing. Although it does clash with my pure and utter hatred of talking about stuff, I've learnt to deal with it.

Most of the time.

"Katttttttttt!" she says, drawing out the 't' into a whine. "How was it?"

"Meh," I say, shrugging one shoulder. "Fine."

I can practically hear Johanna growling behind me. "Fine? All you can say is fine?" I hear her bedsprings creaking, and before I know it, she's attacked me from behind. One thing I've gotten used to - have had to get used to - is Johanna's lack of understanding of personal space. To her, no such thing exists. I've had to get used to it pretty fast.

I try and shake her off, but all she does is stop hanging onto me by my shoulders, and settles for lounging across my bed instead. She kicks my ankle.

Once again, I give in.

"Honestly, I was fine," I say, but Johanna's eyes just narrow at me. "I went in, filled out a ton of paperwork, then Cato taught me how to make a few basic coffees. And that was basically it, Johanna, honestly."

She quirks her mouth. "Cato? Is that the blonde guy?"

I nod, and Johanna smirks. I'm more scared by this that the attacking of moments earlier. She scoots herself closer to me on the bed, so we're practically sitting thigh-to-thigh. Earlier on in our friendship, I would have automatically recoiled from her, going to sit on my chair or stand. Now, I'm comfortable enough with her that although I wouldn't choose for us to sit so close together, I can sit here for a while with her.

I call this progress.

"What's he like?" Johanna asks, and I frown.

"Cato?" She nods in response, with a 'keep up' expression on her face. It's a frequent one she uses around me. "Um … he's … like … a teddy bear."

"A teddy bear?" Johanna's voice is laced with incredulity. "Seriously. Out of all the fucking adjectives and metaphors and whatever else there is, you use the words 'teddy bear' to describe him?"

I turn to her, one eyebrow raised. "Yes," I say, in an even tone. "I mean, he looks tough and scary and possibly like he might just follow you home after work and kill you in a secluded alleyway, but once you get talking to him … he's nice. Sweet, even."

Suddenly, Johanna's sitting bolt upright, a serious expression on her face. "Do you like him?"

"He's alright, I guess. I don't really know him, Johanna. I just met him today."

"That's not what I meant, brainless," Johanna says, hitting my arm. This is a usual occurrence, so much so I don't even flinch. She's given me bruises a couple of times, but I know with Johanna it's just what she does. She doesn't mean to harm you or hurt you. "Do you … like him like him?"

I gape at her. "No!" I shake my head rapidly. "Jesus, Johanna, I only met the guy today!"

"Doesn't matter," Johanna says, as nonchalant as ever. "I didn't even meet him and I know I'd tap that if I had the chance."

I laugh at her, and whack her over the head with my pillow, before announcing I'm going for a shower.

(I won't be telling her that I did sneak a look at Cato's ass a couple of times when he was leaning over the dishwasher).

I'm a little late for my fifth day of work.

"I am so, so sorry," I apologise to Cato as I bustle in the door. It's not busy, by any means (just a few students who look like they've been up all night, and considering the early hour it's a possibility if not a certainty) but I don't like being late for anything. It sets off a bad impression and that's one thing I also hate doing.

Cato's laughing behind the counter. "Don't sweat it, Kat," he says, holding up his arms and gesturing to the zombie-like customers. "Don't you think I can handle it?"

Now it's my turn to laugh. "I think you can handle it just fine," I say, wrapping my green apron around my waist. "But you know I make the strong coffee better."

"That's fighting talk, that is," he replies, and I smile. Okay, so maybe I lied to Johanna yesterday. Okay, so maybe lied is the wrong word - I didn't go into the whole truth. In reality? Cato's extremely easy to talk to. Almost within ten minutes we were bantering back and forth, like we'd known each other for weeks. I felt at ease with him, almost like he wasn't judging me at all, and that was something that was rare with people I had just met.

(And, okay, maybe he wasn't too bad to look at. Like, at all).

There aren't many members of staff on board. Cato is the assistant manager; to date, I've only seen the manager, an older woman referred to as Sae, a couple of times (although Cato and the othes refer to her as Greasy Sae, but only when she's not around. I think it's because of the greasy hair she sports - Johanna would faint if she saw her), and the other two baristas, Marvel and Rue, come in and out. There is another one, Glimmer, but I haven't yet met her. Apart from Cato, Rue is the one I get on with the best. She's funny and quick-witted, and although her comments about customers are sharp and rude, they're also quite funny. Shifts go by fast with her.

This day will be slow but busy, because Sundays always are, according to Cato. "It's full of hungover students buying coffee before they go slouching back to their dorms to sleep the rest of it off," he says with a laugh as he wipes down a counter. "So whilst we'll take in plenty of money with a steady stream of customers, there won't be many people hanging around, if you get my drift. Perfect time to get you started on some of the harder drinks," he continues with a smirk.

I sigh. This week, work has basically been a crash course in all things coffee-related. For someone who hadn't even tried coffee until two weeks ago, I was now an expert in the field, even more so that the self-proclaimed coffee addict Johanna, who kept asking me to steal supplies from work so I could make the coffee for her in our room. I refuse every time, of course.

"Right," Cato says when there are no customers in the shop, rubbing his hands together. "How about we get you started on the frapp?"

So far, my experience has been solely with hot beverages, to the chance to get to use the blenders and other tools I see Cato and Rue with is intriguing. Cato shows me how to put all the ingredients in the blender and makes a perfect caramel cream frappuccino.

I try and do exactly what he does, but it doesn't work out so well. "Caramel syrup, milk, blender-"

"LID!" Cato hollars, but it's too late; I forget to put the lid on the blender and a mixture of caramel syrup, milk and ice flies everywhere, coating the counter, Cato and myself from head to toe.

Both of us stand in silent shock for a moment, simply blinking. I had never been more glad that the shop is deserted.

I swallow, loudly. "I'm - I'm so - god, I'm really sorry - "

I stop talking at Cato's hand, which is suddenly raised in a 'stop' gesture. I can't tell if it's rage that is burning in his eyes, and I cast my eyes downwards as I bite my lip. Back in Seam, this would be the time I would get a blazer of a row for wasting resources.

It's Cato's slow chuckles that bring my eyes back up to his. When my eyes finally reach his face, they see his smiling grin looking straight at me. Quick as a flash he sticks out his index finger and swipes it down my cheek, before sticking the digit in his mouth. I gape as he slowly smiles.

"At least you got the caramel syrup-milk ratio right," he deadpans, before he bursts into guffaws, laughing louder than I've heard anyone laugh in my life. I stand, still for a few moments while he dissolves into laughter, and soon he's on the floor, sitting in the remains of what was supposed to be my attempt at a frappiccino; I'm laughing too, his laughter infectious, and before long, my cheeks hurt from laughing and I'm leaning against the side of the counter, trying to catch my breath back.

"C'mon," he says eventually, a little breathless. He holds his hand out and I pull him to his feet. "We better get this cleaned up before any customers come in."

I spend the rest of my day wiping down surfaces and laughing whenever I catch Cato's eye, flicking soapy water at each other and 'accidentally' spilling various liquids over each other's counters.

When I arrive back in my room, Johanna pounces immediately, asking why I'm soaking wet and smelling of caramel. She picks up a strand of syrupy hair and recoils away from me, saying she would absolutely not talk to me until I'd had a shower and was looking at least vaguely presentable again.

I just laugh loudly and head for a shower to wash the remains of frappiccino from my hair.